


Submission

by tristinai



Series: Relationship: Gavin Reed - [REDACTED] [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Job, D/s overtones, Emotional Manipulation, Gavin's an even bigger asshole in this, Kink Shaming, Light Bondage, M/M, Nines POV, Nines starts out as soft but Gavin breaks him, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, background Hannor, because Gavin can't have nice things, brief mention Gavin/OMC, mentions of hand jobs, one-sided Convin, one-sided Reed900, robotic Nines, there's probably some level of dubious consent on both sides, using emotional manipulation to get sex, world's saddest facial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Gavin's always pushing, seeing how far he can bend Nines before Nines breaks.Unfortunately, he gets his answer.(Sequel to Substitute)





	Submission

**Author's Note:**

> I tell myself I want happy, fluffy things and then I write stuff like this. Not beta read so all mistakes are my own. Please read all the tags before continuing.

He stares at the paper cup, steam billowing above the rim, his retinal scanner cataloging the liquid’s temperature at 191 degrees Fahrenheit. Previous internet searches of optimal serving temperatures for coffee yielded results in the 160 to 180 range, though Nines has since learned that his detective responds most positively when his coffee is just under 175. Given Gavin’s predilection for arriving not minutes before the start of his shift, RK900 assesses that by the time Detective Reed completes his morning routine of greeting the few associates in his inner circle, and his habit of dawdling in the break room to avoid the latest stack of paperwork, the coffee will have reached the desired temperature. Placed 9.83 inches from the desk’s edge, approximately 4.31 inches from the keyboard, Nines has since had numerous mornings of accumulating visual data to determine how Reed likes to sit, where his hand rests, and where the cup will best be within reach to indulge the detective when his caffeine cravings hit.

Satisfied, his eyes flit to the screen in front of him, a series of case files waiting to be read. The synthetic skin on the tips of his fingers fold back to reveal off-white titanium and he touches the computer’s screen, interfacing to extract the data.

_Fuck, you feel so fucking good_

His LED flickers as a visual invades his optical units. It’s as if every wire is reacting to the phantom weight of another body straddled in his lap, eyes dark and heady as a moan tears from the man’s throat, hands grasping at Nines.

The android tries to blink away the memory but there’s data flickering before his eyes:

**[ HEART RATE : 121 BPM]**

**[ Salivary samples: traces of rye whiskey, nicotine, thirium-laced pre-ejaculate]**

Gavin’s looking at him in a way he never has before, gaze unguarded, a vulnerability that has Nines’ thirium pump stuttering as his internal fans struggle to keep his core from overheating. His mouth open, the name that spills off his lips ripples like a jagged blade cutting through RK900’s wires and it’s as if the very sound can make thirium bleed from his ears.

_Connor—Oh, Con—_

Red.

The anger he’s unable to construe into a sneer has his LED blinking not once, but thrice, painting the side of his face in its vicious glow.

The visual flickers from his optics and he’s left staring at the computer screen.

A message pops in the corner of his vision, a request to open communications from RK800.

Nines has half a mind to ignore the request but knows it will only invite more questions from his predecessor later.

[313 248 317-51]

_Is everything alright, RK900?_

Nines doesn’t require a scan to know his brother is at the other end of the bullpen with his partner. Connor must have detected the small hike in his stress levels.

Lowering his hand and breaking his interface with the computer, Nines doesn’t bother turning his head to acknowledge the other android, filing away the data he’s collected into the appropriate drives as he constructs a reply.

[ 313 248 317-87]

_Nothing of concern. I noted a miscalculation in a recent dialogue I had with one of our coworkers. As I am lacking in the programming to detect emotional cues, I may have committed a social faux pas._

To designate the entire evening he had with Gavin as a “social faux pas” would be an underwhelming assessment. Everything about the detective’s behavior post-coital indicated the human thought it a mistake and left RK900 confused in ways he can’t begin to comprehend.

But this is hardly something he wishes to share with Connor, no less given the circumstances that found the detective in his lap.

[ 313 248 317-51]

_If you would like, I am here to listen and may be able to provide some clarity so you can avoid such situations in the future._

Avoiding ‘such situations’ is the exact opposite of what Nines wants.

[ 313 248 317-87]

_I thank you for your offer but I believe this is something I must evaluate on my own, if I am to develop a comprehensive understanding of human emotion._

Seemingly satisfied, Connor restates his offer before breaking the connection. Nines is slightly amused to hear his predecessor maintain Lieutenant Anderson’s attention throughout their short communication, laughing accordingly at the detective’s jokes and offering one of his own.

Nines recalls the last time he tried telling a joke.

Gavin had stared at him in confusion—then anger—then muttered something about ‘ _fucking androids’_ before storming off to inflict his ire on someone else at the crime scene.

Evidently, Gavin doesn’t understand binary.

It seems his thoughts refuse to stray from his partner, who he has had no contact with since Friday evening. He tried to bury the discomfort that’s lingered since he left Reed’s apartment but it’s festered into something he can only name as apprehension, the uncertainty of being able to know where things stand between him and Gavin making him question why any of his kind had ever chosen deviancy in the first place. There was a simplicity to having tasks, to solving problems. Absent of the baggage of having a self, RK900 wouldn’t need to consider what it is he _feels_ and _why_ he feels in such a way.

And now, he’s forced to confront all the conflicting emotions he’ll never be able to express in more than a handful of monotonous syllables.

[Detective Gavin Reed – 08:02]

_Hey, Tin Can. Locker room. ASAP_

That uncomfortable feeling spreads to every artificial synapse as he stands rigidly, carrying his body in quick strides across the bullpen and towards where he recalls the locker room being. He’s never had to enter it before, beyond an initial tour Connor had given him shortly after his arrival, but he arrives not minutes after receiving the message.

For once, he can express disappointment is his efficiency as, without the presence of the lieutenant and their peers, he knows he will be subjected to Gavin’s candid thoughts on what transpired on Friday.

He detects Gavin before he sees him, arms folded over his chest, leaning against his designated locker. The moment the door shuts behind RK900, there’s a charged energy in the air, like a virus invading his cpu, corrupting his processes and breaking down his fire walls until he’s crumpling within himself, becoming obsolete.

Only Gavin’s ever made him feel like that—like with one word, he can break all the structures RK900 has carefully crafted to isolate himself from the glaring flaws of his deviancy that make him incomplete.

They stare at each other: Nines, face impassive while his eyes are swimming with everything he wishes he could _show._ Gavin, trademark sneer expressing everything he _thinks_ of his android partner while his eyes remain a glacial, guarded wall of forced indifference.

“Detective Reed,” Nines starts, “About the other night—”

“You like me, Nines?”

The RK900 is at a loss, his preconstructions failing to determine the means and direction of such a line of questioning. He thought his intentions clear given his recent behavior towards the detective.

Perhaps, Gavin needs verbal confirmation.

“Based on my knowledge of human courtship rituals, I had enacted similar methods to convey my interest in working towards a closer, perhaps, more intimate relationship that extends beyond our partnership,” Nines answers.

Gavin’s laughter is, from what Nines can assess, not meant to express mirth. The sound curls in his audio processor and makes that discomfort twist until he’s registering what he’s come to understand as _hurt._

“Pretty fucked up, don’cha think? Playing dress up?”

Gavin pushes off the lockers, saunters over and it no longer matters that RK900 has the height advantage because he’s curling into himself, left to the mercy of whatever abuse his partner’s going to throw at him now.

“People don’t do shit like that, Nines. Well, not fucking sane people. But you’re not even a fucking person so what would you know about acting like one?”

And Gavin’s standing in front of him, glaring, the heat of him making what little resolve Nines has crumble. He’s processing the malice that drips off Gavin’s tongue but all he can focus on is the objective he had set for himself since the start of their partnership.

**[Mission Objective: Gain Gavin Reed’s approval]**

He wants Gavin to accept him. Maybe to the point where he’s conflated his obsession for completing his objectives with affection.

“You still want me, you plastic fuck?”

And Gavin has to stand on the tips of his toes, stretching up so his smirk is a whisper against RK900’s lips. It would be easy for Nines to flick his tongue across those lips, take a sample, tease them open as he had the other night, in his crash course in sexual intimacy. He memorized the ways he could make Gavin come apart, researched obsessively afterwards should the detective ever want a repeat.

He wants to prove he’s worth the detective’s time.

“Yes,” Nines says, the ‘s’ cracking with static.

Gavin sets back down on the balls of his feet, arousal spiking as blood rushes below his waist. Nines can feel the detective’s heart rate increase, the android’s admission enough to make Gavin’s cock start to fill. He’s reaching for his jeans, unbuckling them, and the heat in his eyes is offset by the coldness of his smile.

“Then get on your fucking knees and prove it, asshole.”

Nines has been free since his deviancy. He knows he can—and should—walk away from a situation that places him at such a disadvantage. He’s being exploited in the very way that he’s been made to exploit. And it’s what has him dropping to his knees, fingers on the hem of Gavin’s jean and slowly reaching inside to relieve the detective of the confines of his pants and boxer briefs.

A shudder as his hand grasps around a quickly hardening shaft. The sound is so pleasing, Nines can feel his pump regulator stutter. His tongue dips out to lubricate his lips but before he has a chance to sample the white beads pearling on the tip of Gavin’s cock, rough fingers grasp his chin, tilting his face up towards their owner.

“The eye thing,” Gavin rasps out, “Do the fucking eye thing.”

Resentment burns at RK900’s temple but he blinks the lenses into place, his optical units adjusting behind the thin film. It makes something insidious that he’s refused to name spread like the thirium in his wires but he knows he’s set himself up to be a substitution of the one Gavin Reed actually desires, a pale shadow limited by all he is never allowed to become.

“Fuck, you look hot like that.”

Meaningless praise for what he can imitate, not what he can do.

Nines tongue flicks the dribble of pre-cum, breaking down its components. **[** **Ascorbic acid, zinc, protein, acid phosphatase, glucose...** **]** He tests what he researched in visual examples of fellatio, licking an experimental stripe up the shaft, pressing the base of his tongue just beneath the head before letting the weight of it settle on his lips. He hears Gavin’s sharp intake of breath, draws his eyes up to stare at the man’s face as his lips pull the detective’s cock into his mouth with a loud, salacious suck.

“F-fuck,” Gavin groans, hips canting to push himself further into the wet heat Nines provides.

Without a gag reflex, Nines can take all of Gavin with ease, though a quick search informs him that Gavin is about as average as it gets when it comes to his genitalia. Still, the detective demonstrates nothing akin to insecurity, twisting dark locks between his fingers, guiding RK900 in a steady rhythm that leaves Gavin mewling each time his cock hits the back of Nines’ throat. Nines’ hands are on the detective’s hips and each thrust forward triggers his pleasure censors, has the new program redirecting thirium to his recent upgrade, a growing bulge filling his tight jeans. He’s too distracted by the sensory explosion—Gavin’s soft moans, the collection of data from pre-cum dripping on his tongue, the feel of the detective _touching_ his hair—that he’s hardly noticed the purple bruises forming where his fingers press into the detective’s flesh. But if anything, it makes Gavin all that more receptive to the blissful edge Nines’ mouth is pushing him towards.

It starts as a tremble, a building Nines’ recognizes from his own release not a few days before. Gavin’s throat becomes hoarse the more roughly he pushes into the android’s mouth, praise garbled into nonsense, hands tugging hard enough to pull a few of Nines’ hairs. It’s the closest Nines has come to Gavin’s approval, when he’s edging his partner to sweet release, and it has his voice cracking with static around the detective’s cock, synthetic skin of his hands retreating unconsciously, the need to _touch—_ to really _feel—_ the detective overwhelming the possibility of triggering the man by reminding him who—and _what—_ is bringing him such pleasure.

A choked cry and Gavin is tugging back Nines’ head, his own hand grasping the base of his dick and pumping roughly. It takes only a handful of strokes before ejaculate spurts from the tip, splashing Nines’ cheeks and nose, warm and musky. Blown-pupils bear down on his and as the detective milks his cock one final time, a broken ‘ _Connor’_ shudders off his lips.

_Connor._

Always _Connor._

It’s with his LED flaring, a sensation that feels as if it’s melting his core, setting afire and fraying his components, that Nines watches the detective tuck himself back in his jeans. The visuals from his optics are processing at 1/10 their usual speed, buffering and delaying feedback as everything is bathed in RED.

He feels the detective ruffle his hair in a patronizing gesture.

“At least you’re good for something,” the detective says.

And as Gavin leaves him there, on his knees, cum dripping off his nose, Nines finally understands what shame feels like.

* * *

It happens again, a few days later.

Gavin and Connor are at it, the detective spitting vitriol, telling the android off in every variation of the words ‘ _Go fuck yourself!’_ while the cracks in Connor’s calm facade slowly diminish, LED cycling until it’s blaring crimson. Nines remains rigid and upright near the door, having readily accepted their dismissal and finding the futility of Gavin insisting on challenging every order rather irksome. Yet, he does not intervene on RK800’s behalf and remains a spectator to Gavin’s current tantrum.

“You’ve been given a direct order from the Lieutenant: we are to interrogate the suspect you apprehended as we have reason to believe he is connected to the murders we have been investigating,” Connor explains for the umpteenth time, each word punctuated by his impatience. “Further resilience is not only a waste of my time but of the precinct’s.”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Gavin snaps. “You can tell that asshole that if he wants this, he can let me know himself! I don’t take orders from his fucking lapdop!”

A private chat request appears in RK900’s screen, which he readily accepts.

[313 248 317-51]

_RK900, if you cannot convince your partner to de-escalate, I may be forced to take unseemly action against him. He is obstructing our investigation for reasons I can only conclude are related to his fragile pride._

If RK900 could chuckle, he supposed now would be the kind of situation that would prompt such a response.

“Gavin,” he starts, his voice barely cutting through the muttered curse his partner spits at Connor, “it would be best if we follow orders and allow RK800 to—”

“Fuck off, Nines! We don’t need to take this shit! Just because your plastic twin’s fucking that old piece of shit doesn’t mean he can—!”

The moment RK800’s fingers begin to curl, Nines is preconstructing the angle and force at which the knuckles will hit its intended target. There’s approximately 1.0147 seconds for him to react—impossible for a human but very much in the realm of possibility for an RK unit—but Nines decides to ignore the warnings he’s receiving of his partner’s impending bodily harm.

Maybe it’s yet another facet of the freedom that comes with deviancy but he’s of a mind that the detective deserves to be put in his place.

There’s a loud SNAP as Connor’s fist connects with Gavin’s nose, blood spurting down the detective’s chin. He gasps and clutches at his face but Connor’s already grabbing the startled detective by his jacket and yanking him in close.

“You will refrain from _EVER_ speaking ill of your commanding officer again,” Connor hisses. “Say what you will about my kind but I will not tolerate your lack of professionalism towards the lieutenant.”

He releases Gavin, wipes the blood off his knuckles with a look of utter disgust on his pants. His LED cycles back to blue but there’s a silent rage about him that almost welcomes Gavin to antagonize him further. Much to RK900’s dismay, he can already detect the detective’s racing heartbeat and everything about the man’s demeanor leads Nines to conclude that his self-destructive behavior is only fueling his arousal.

“RK900? Why don’t you show your partner out so that I may continue with the interrogation.”

Nines is about to comply but Gavin beats him to it.

“I can show myself out, you plastic fucks!”

As Gavin storms out, Nines spends but a few milliseconds before he’s following after him. He relays a quick apology to RK800 via their communication but the response he receives makes him reassess his attempts at mediation.

[313 248 317-51]

_I cannot begin to comprehend what it is that fascinates you about him._

The underlying disapproval is enough that is has him closing the chat.

The door to the men’s bathroom slams with a loud BANG! Nines pauses, recalling the last, and only time, he had ever violated the detective’s privacy and followed him in there. The spike in Gavin’s vitals had been confusing at the time—not unlike what they are now—but Gavin’s made it clear from his recent behavior that he views RK900 as nothing more than a tool to be used when the whims strike him. And given his unpredictable nature, RK900 is uncertain if his presence would be welcomed or spurned.

Another officer about to enter stops, glances hesitantly at the door.

“Was that Reed?”

“The detective’s had an unfortunate collision with the inevitable” RK900 answers.

The officer cocks a brow.

“Fuck it, I’m using the one downstairs,” the officer mutters, heading back down the hall.

Not surprising, it seems Gavin’s tantrums are enough to clear any room.

Deciding his indecision unproductive, RK900 enters, closing the door carefully behind him. His scans indicate Gavin is the only other being in here and sure enough, he sees the detective hunched over the sink, clearing the blood from his sinuses. He retrieves some paper towel, wets it in the water flowing from the faucet, and then tilts his head up to watch himself in the mirror as he dabs at the blood.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, making eye contact with RK900’s reflection.

The detective’s keyed up, running on adrenaline. He’s fidgety in the way he leans over the porcelain sink, the hand not cleaning his wound gripping it tightly. It’s discomfort, RK900 realizes, and the detective’s tongue is swiping suggestively across his own lip, licking away the blood.

“Gavin, allow me to—”

Nines reaches around, his hand falling gently over the detective’s to try and take the paper towel, to clean away the crimson that stains Gavin’s chin. It feels nice to just have this chance to _touch_ him but Gavin’s never wanted nice—at least, not from Nines.

He drops the paper towel into the sink, grasps Nines hand roughly and drags it down his front until he’s pressing Nines’ hand over the bulge tenting his jeans. A low growl falls from his lips and his smile is more sneer than smirk as he rubs himself into Nines’ hand.

“You gonna stand there all day or you gonna jack me off, dipshit?” Reed says, staring heatedly at Nines through the mirror.

Nines glances at his reflection, his cool, gray eyes staring back at him. His hand kneads the bulge, and he bends his head to nose the edge of Gavin’s ear, each particle of skin making his censors sing with a need to touch—to lick and sample. But when he goes to recapture Gavin’s gaze in the mirror, he sees the detective frowning.

“Asshole thinks he can order me around,” Gavin says, glaring meaningfully at his reflection. “What would that old fuck think of his stupid sex bot helping me rub one out?”

Nines’ mouth twitches but fails to convey the displeasure adequately.

In a blink, brown eyes stare back at him.

And with shades of red flashing at Nines’ temple, he detects a victorious smirk on Gavin’s lips, who moans Connor’s name as Nines strokes him to completion.

* * *

It happens again. And again. And again.

Some days, it’s Gavin blowing off steam: another argument with Connor, being told off by Hank, or getting threatened with a disciplinary for questioning one of Fowler’s orders.

Other days, it’s for the challenge. Just how far will Nines bend before he breaks?

But after weeks of this cycle, Gavin grows as weary of the games as Nines grows of trying to predict the detective’s moods.

And suddenly...Gavin stops coming to him.

It’s been days since Nines last received a demand to be sucked off, which then becomes a week. He has always responded favorably to every one of Gavin’s requests, never questioning, never complaining about the detective’s refusal to kiss him or to reciprocate or to attempt anything resembling affection when they are together. Nines is _starved_ but he knows better than to push.

So when it finally stops and that first week drags into the second, Nines is practically dying for even a scrap of Gavin’s attention.

He corners him in the locker room at the end of the Friday shift, willing his LED to remain a calm blue even as the lenses blink in place. He doesn’t care how many times Gavin calls him _Connor._ He just _wants._

“The fuck are you doing?” Gavin says, glaring down at the android kneeling in front of him.

RK900 knows they are alone and doesn’t understand why Gavin is stopping his hands from unbuckling the detective’s jeans.

“It’s been some time since you’ve last ejaculated,” Nines explains. “My scans indicate that you haven’t slept adequately the last few days and your behavior has led me to conclude that you are stressed, detective. I am merely hoping to provide you some relief.”

“Well if that isn’t the sexiest way to offer head...” Gavin mutters. “Look, Nines, I’m just not in the mood to deal with this shit today.”

Yellow is cycling at Nines’ temple. He wonders—with a sinking feeling—if he’s done anything to make Gavin lose interest.

“Maybe some other time.”

And like the few other times Gavin has left Nines in the locker room, the android finds himself weighed down by the humiliation of knowing he can’t and never will be _enough_.

* * *

Blue. Purple. Hints of yellow.

The colors bleed into a mosaic of indiscretion, evidence of the lips that had traced and nipped and ravaged Gavin’s flesh. Lips that did not belong to RK900.

He stares, seated across from the detective, retinal scanner detecting dried saliva still present on Gavin’s neck.

And suddenly, the hues of blue and purple become red.

“Jesus Christ, Gav. The fuck happened to you?”

Gavin smirks, leans back in his chair, inclining his head towards Officer Chen. A sliver of collarbone peeks from his shirt and both Nines and Tina can see the extent of the ‘damage’, ‘damage’ that Gavin wears with pride. Nines tries to avert his attention, grabs his stapler to put together a report he needs to submit to Captain Fowler. His grip tightens, the stapler snapping loudly.

“What’s it look like, Chen?” Gavin says, with a cool chuckle. RK900 can still see the shit-eating grin from the corner of his optics and suspects it’s all meant for him. “Best fucking night I’ve had in a _long_ time.”

The stapler crushes into pieces in RK900’s hand.

Officer Chen glances worriedly at him. “You okay there, Nines?”

Nines feels a sensation bubbling in his core, similar to what he’s experienced every time Gavin’s uttered Connor’s name while he’s orally stimulated the detective. But it’s more severe than anything he’s felt before, boiling and festering until his thirium seems to thrum with it. His preconstructions imagine all the ways he can release, most of the scenarios involving the infliction of damage upon the nearest object.

It’s most unsettling.

He stares impassively at the officer but he’s unable to construct a reply, not trusting his vocal unit to not crack with static.

“Dipshit’s always doing stuff like this,” Gavin answers for him, reaching between their desks to place his own stapler in front of Nines. That smirk still hasn’t left his face. “Hey, Plastic, try not to break this one too.”

Nines’ temple bleeds with the rage he cannot inflect. He updates his list of objectives as he _carefully_ takes the stapler.

[ **Mission Objective** **s** **:**

**Avoid damaging Detective Reed’s office supplies**

**Submit reports to Captain Fowler**

**Determine and update status of relationship with Detective Reed]**

“Fucking androids, amirite?”

Tina rolls her eyes at Gavin before making her way to the break room.

“For fuck sakes, Reed, ever hear of a god damn scarf?” Anderson calls from his corner of the bullpen.

Gavin flips him off.

Nines sets to his task, distracting himself by running multiple processes, reorganizing and filtering data as he staples the rest of his reports. He tries not to think of the marks on Gavin’s skin—abrasions on his wrists suggesting consented force was used, cuts on his chapped lips from where teeth had bit down hard enough to tear—but his optics can’t help it, always cataloging—assessing--the space around him.

His LED is still blazing at his temple.

Gavin lifts his neglected drink, blue eyes carefully watching the android. As soon as the lukewarm liquid passes his lips, he’s sneering. “Coffee’s gone cold, dipshit. Make me another one.”

And he unceremoniously tosses the paper cup in the small bin beside Nines’ desk with enough force that some drops splash onto the side.

Nines freezes. His eyes shift to regard the detective, though where once Gavin had visibly shuddered at RK900’s stilted mannerisms, he now seems unfazed, almost relishing the effect his current display is having on his partner.

“Coffee’s not gonna make itself.”

Emotions have always been confusing for Nines. Many of them, he has a hard time deciphering and an even more difficult time determining the appropriate reaction to help ‘humanize’ himself within his limitations. But there’s no mistaking the anger that’s building into a steady rage as Gavin sits there, smug and determined to break Nines’ composure.

Gavin can try all he wants but Nines is not about to break.

“I will see to it immediately, detective.”

He’s on autopilot, standing in front of the coffee maker, the splash of dark liquid received by his audio components but remaining at the periphery of his focus. At his sides, his hands clench and unclench, the press of synthetic nails cutting into synthetic skin. He registers the cosmetic damage as he ignores the repeated invitations to open communications with RK800. The telltale _drip drip drip_ rings its staccato tune and he waits until its complete before taking the paper cup in hand.

“You shouldn’t let Detective Reed antagonize you.”

Nines refuses to meet Connor’s gaze, head tilted to stare at a point behind the android. His superior height gives him a slight edge but what many would mistake as pride is simply RK900 not wanting his shame to bloom with the pity Connor no doubt has on his face.

“Detective Reed is crass and volatile when he is without his morning coffee,” RK900 answers. “I intend to rectify the situation by indulging his caffeine cravings.”

A hand grasps Nines’ shoulder, preventing him from leaving. There’s a minute stiffening of his posture, one that sends a clear message that this is not a conversation he wishes to continue.

But Connor is as infuriatingly persistent as ever.

[313 248 317-51]

_You must be aware that he’s been using you. Humans like Gavin Reed are incapable of empathizing with our kind. Whatever you may feel, it can hardly be worth the way he treats you._

And just like that, Nines’ sensory experiences a numbing no different to physical exposure to extreme cold. He hears the concern and admonition that Connor projects, the hand that soothes willing to slap a harsh truth that he has been trying to avoid.

His response is frigid, defensive, projecting in a way his vocal unit will not allow.

[313 248 317-87]

 _I have no illusions of the nature of our_ relationship.

[313 248 317-51]

_Then why indulge him?_

Nines’ answer is a pathetic note that rings in dulcet tones over their mental link. There’s a raw truth to it that makes those synthetic nails dig deep enough into his palm that drops of thirium stain their pristine edges.

[ 313 248 317-87]

 _Because he makes me_ feel.

* * *

By noon, Nines can’t take it any longer. He’s avoided the objective he’s set for himself all morning, part of it a routine practice in maintaining his work ethic and another part of him fearing a conversation that his preconstructions calculated with an 87.41% chance of termination of his casual sexual relationship with his partner. But with the start of the lunch break, he can no longer rely on the excuse of work to ignore the inevitable.

He waits until Gavin’s completed his bodily functions before he enters the men’s bathroom, his sudden appearance behind the detective making the man flinch in surprise.

“For fuck sakes, Nines! I’m buying you a god damn bell and don’t you even try to give me that shit about it being ‘counter-productive for the field’ or whatever,” Gavin grumbles, shutting off the water.

Nines’ mouth snaps shut, the practiced speech abandoned as he seeks other responses. The plethora of replies he generates range from confrontational to the mundane but he settles on an option he’s never tried before, despite warnings that his inability to inflect makes him ill-suited for such banter.

“If you must insist on a collar, I am most fond of the color blue.”

Gavin nearly stumbles into the paper towel dispenser. He turns to grab too roughly at a sheet of paper and Nines’ detects a hint of color in the detective’s cheeks.

“I’m not really gonna buy you one, dipshit,” Gavin says. “There a reason you followed me in here? ‘Cause if you keep doing that shit, people are gonna think we’re fucking.”

Nines is about to point out that Connor’s already figured it out but hesitates. The hesitation is not only because he knows such information would only embarrass Gavin—whose made it clear, on more than one occasion, how humiliated he would feel if anyone knew about _them—_ but is also the way Gavin speaks of it, as if there isn’t anything between them.

As if there never _was_ anything between them.

And Nines has the sinking sensation that if he removed his thirium pump, the fear of a shut down would be preferable to the rejection he’s experiencing in this moment.

“Are you saying you wish to terminate our arrangement?”

His monotone crackles with static.

Gavin doesn’t look at him, crumples the paper towel, tosses it in the garbage. He tenses and it’s the prolonging of the inevitable that makes the percentages Nines had calculated earlier spike into the 90s, hope overwritten byte-by-byte.

“There’s nothing to ‘terminate’. Fuck, Nines, you barely know what the hell it is you ‘feel’. Not like you have any _real_ feelings to hurt.”

Nines is silent as Gavin belittles him and it’s no different than how Connor had spoken to him earlier. It seems everyone else understood the complexities of his own feelings better than himself. And that...is kind of starting to piss him off.

His hands clench into fists at his sides. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Gavin, who folds his arms over his chest, the rolling of his shoulders bringing Nines’ attention to the bruises still splashed across the detective’s exposed neck.

And though he knows this was everything he had wanted to avoid earlier, Nines suddenly can’t help himself.

“Who was he?”

Red light bounces off the mirror in small flashes.

“Didn’t ask,” Gavin says, with a shrug.

Italian leather clicks on the tile. One steps forward, another back. Prey caught in the path of its predator though Gavin’s never been one to back down without a fight, lips curling in a vicious sneer. His breath hitches as his back hits the wall, a firm arm boxing him in, Nines’ hand touching the dank surface but his eyes aflame with a fury that keeps the detective frozen in place.

Dipping his head, Nines noses the edge of Gavin’s jaw, hears the quickening thud of the detective’s heart. His tongue darts out, presses and drags a line over stubble and bruises, collecting dead skin cells and dried saliva. His salivary fluid analyzes, sets aside the data he recognizes as _Gavin Reed_ and instead identifies the foreign substance.

**[Carlos Juarez-Garcia DOB: 04/19/04 Occupation: Financial consultant Bank of America, known offenses: DUI]**

His fingers dig hard enough to make cracks appear in the tile near Gavin’s head.

“You really gonna go all terminator on me over some one night stand?”

With a face to the marks left on Gavin, Nines can reconstruct how and who had touched the detective, his own collection of visual and auditory data compiling image upon image of the sounds Gavin made, the expressions on his face, the grip of his fingers in dark locks and way his body opened itself to a complete stranger.

And everything, _everything_ is bathed in red darker than the blood flowing through Gavin’s blood vessels.

“I don’t owe you shit, Nines!”

Hands that aren’t his own. Lips that aren’t his own. Touching, bruising, _claiming_ what is _his._

“You think I was gonna go begging for it from some plastic prick every time I wanted to get off? Fuck, if I wanted it that bad from some spineless asshole, I’d be perving out at Eden Club.”

CRACK!

Tile shatters in pieces, raining noisily around their feet. A pair of blue eyes widen, a dry lip pulled between off-white teeth, Gavin biting back a surprised cry. The fist that’s punched through drywall slowly retracts, hint of blue on his knuckles, but Nines can only focus on the ringing in his head, a continuous loop of the clattering of tile, the loss of his careful composure.

His eyes flicker from the hole in the wall to the detective, pupils swallowing the irises until he’s staring into dark pools of _need._ Fear is Gavin’s aphrodisiac and he’s radiating _want_ as if he hadn’t spent the better part of an evening entangled in a nameless tryst.

_Fucking touch me already, dipshit,_ his body seems to scream.

But all Nines can see is failure to control the very thing that’s always threatening to consume him.

He takes a step back, retreats.

Gavin snorts in disappointment.

“You really are spineless.”

And he kicks pieces of broken tile towards Nines’ feet, storming off towards the exit as Nines stares at the remnants of his composure cluttered across the bathroom floor. The phantom pounding in his head becomes a violent siren that wails and obstructs his processes, his fingernails digging and tearing into the flesh of his palms.

Gavin pauses, hand on the handle of the door. If the detective is aware of the meltdown Nines is having, he shows no empathy.

“You never asked why I did it, Tin Can.”

[ **Gypsum, cellulose, traces of crystalline silica, mica, wax** — **]**

Bits of drywall scuff the tips of Nines’ shoes.

“There’s nothing you can give me that I can’t get somewhere else,” Gavin says, words cutting straight through Nines’ thirium pump. “And that’s what this shit means to me: _nothing._ ”

_That’s what you mean to me: nothing._

The door slams shut.

**[** — **vermiculite, boric acid** — **]**

And Nines stares.

**[** — **potassium sulfate** — **]**

And stares.

**[** — **starch** — **]**

His LED whirls in swift cycles.

“— _that’s what this shit means to me_ — _”_

His optical units twitch and he feels the lenses slip into place. The gaze that stares back at him in the mirror is not his own, not really. An imitation of a socially superior model, one that has acclimated where Nines has remained the office pariah, unable to even earn the respect or companionship of his own work partner.

He’s tried so hard to be like Connor, to replicate Connor’s relationship with the lieutenant, that in the process, Nines has become _nothing_ to Gavin.

_I_

He blinks, cool gray reflecting off the mirror’s surface.

_am not_

His hands clench and unclench, LED on fire.

_**NOTHING** _

He turns swiftly on his heels, mind palace constructing the path Gavin has taken. No different than when in pursuit of a perp, Nines moves hastily and with intent through the halls of the DPD. Gavin’s gone outside, most likely to smoke before the break’s over, and Nines makes no effort to maneuver around another officer as he makes for the doors, shoulder-checking and nearly knocking the man over.

“Hey! Watch—!”

The icy stare he receives causes the officer’s heart rate to spike, his complaint dying on his lips.

Once outside, Nines doesn’t need his mind palace to locate his partner. Gavin’s leaning against his car at the edge of the parking lot, cigarette dangling from his lips, idly scrolling through some app on his phone. It takes all of 13.7 seconds for Nines’ longer legs to carry him across the lot and he makes no attempt to hide his approach, shoes clicking loudly on asphalt.

Gavin looks up with a sneer.

“Nines, what the fu—!”

The cigarette falls from his lips, phone dropping to the ground as Gavin is grabbed roughly, flipped over and slammed against the driver’s door. Blood trickles from where he bit down on his lower lip and he struggles futilely to free himself from Nines’ iron grip. Nines only twists back the detective’s arm farther, making Gavin cry out. He leans forward, lips ghosting the shell of Gavin’s ear.

“I grow tired of your consistent efforts to belittle the nature of our arrangement,” his monotone projecting a calm that contradicts the rage of emotions broiling in his CPU. He takes a meaningful pause, presses himself fully against Gavin’s back, so the detective can _feel_ the full extent of the threat he is about to issue. “Evidently, you need a clear reminder of what that is.”

He releases a hot, unnecessary breath and Gavin’s response is a whimper he fails to swallow. The tips of the detective’s ears color and already he’s spitting vitriol, even as Nines detects his growing arousal. “Fucking asshole, you don’t make the—!”

Using his free hand to grab the back of Gavin’s neck, Nines pulls back and slams Gavin against the door once more, his fingers squeezing with enough pressure to make blood vessels burst. A strangled sound bursts at the back of Gavin’s throat but Nines won’t be satisfied until his own hands have replaced blemishes from Gavin’s one night stand with his own. He won’t let **his** detective be marked by another.

“You misunderstand if you believe you are still in control,” Nines says, his flat voice sounding that much more ominous. He releases the detective’s neck, hears Gavin gasp sharply, blood-laced spittle splashing over the surface of the vehicle. “Your methods have proven most unsatisfactory. We now do this on my terms.”

He opens the door to the backseat and shoves Gavin inside. The detective trips onto the worn leather of the seat, glaring over his shoulder as Nines crawls in after him. But Nines wastes no time, hardly processes the vitriol Gavin’s directing at him, reaching around the detective to undo the belt of his jeans. Gavin stops struggling as he feels the entirety of Nines’ weight on his back.

“So, what? You’re just gonna fuck me until I make you feel like you’re special?”

Nines removes Gavin’s belt, pulling back both of Gavin’s hands and using it to bind the detective’s wrists together. He fastens the belt tight enough to cut into the detective’s skin should Gavin prove to be...difficult.

“Gonna make me forget about the _fantastic_ dicking I had last night?”

And Gavin laughs coldly into the seat.

“Didn’t know you fuckers cared about shit like that.”

Nines grasps at dark brown locks, yanks back hard enough to lift Gavin’s head off the seat. He forces an exhale, simulated breath a whisper across Gavin’s cheek. “This experience would be far more enjoyable if you stopped spewing such nonsense.”

He lets go and Gavin’s head falls back down onto the seat. With a tug, Nines pulls down Gavin’s jeans and boxer briefs to the detective’s knees, the cool air in the vehicle prickling at Gavin’s exposed skin. Much to the disgust of Nines, traces of dried lubricant dot the detective’s thighs and he doesn’t hold back in voicing his disapproval.

“It is most unbecoming to arrive at work in such a state, detective.”

“You telling me to take a fucking shower next time some other asshole plows me?”

Nines feels his brows twitch. “You’re delusional if you believe there will be a next time.”

Fingers trace the inside of Gavin’s thigh and he feels the detective shiver beneath his touch.

“You telling me one more taste of your fake dick and I’m gonna give up the _real_ thing? And you’re saying I’m delusional.”

His hand presses in the space between Gavin’s cheeks, rewarded with a shaky inhale when his finger circles the detective’s hole. He pushes the flat tip of it against the pucker, damp with leftover lube. Certainly not enough to penetrate Gavin without causing extreme discomfort but some part of Nines, who has endured enough humiliation and mistreatment from his partner, finds he has a hard time caring.

Given Gavin’s proclivities, the detective would probably enjoy some dry barebacking.

“I know this because, despite your earlier proclamation, there is something I can give you that no one else can,” Nines declares. He presses, finger forcing past the ring of muscle up to the first knuckle. A choked groan as Gavin squeezes around the sudden intrusion. “Complete and utter domination.”

He pushes until his finger is buried deep and Gavin bucks down onto the seat, neglected cock rutting against faded leather. Despite his activities from the night before, Gavin is still tight and the revelation has Nines’ own cock responding in his tight pants.

Good. If anyone is going to be wrecking Gavin Reed, it will **only** be him.

“You demand submission, yet push back when you receive it.” He pulls out and thrusts his finger back in hard. “You claim to detest synthetic bodies, yet you become aroused at simply the prospect of becoming intimate with one.”

By the time Nines is pushing another finger inside, Gavin’s a whimpering mess. “You’re a contradiction, whose ego is as fragile as your insecurities numerous and you thrive in chaos but secretly want to be controlled.”

He scissors his fingers, saliva percolating in his mouth as even when he’s pleasuring Gavin, Gavin’s body is still offering resistance: squeezing and swallowing his fingers whole, like the needy bitch Gavin is. Gavin’s whines are a mess of incomprehensible noise and his own audio components have difficulty deciphering if the detective is trying to form words or merely uttering nonsense. His hand stills and Gavin tries to press back by getting onto his knees but Nines is shoving him down hard enough that Gavin smacks his nose against the door handle. Leaning over the bound detective, Nines’ whispers, “So I say this once, Gavin Reed, and I expect you to accept this as your new gospel: you are **mine** and never again will you willingly invite another to touch you in the ways that I have.”

The harsh static that cuts into his vocals leaves little room for disagreement.

“Have I made myself clear?”

A shaky exhale, an almost imperceptible nodding of his partner’s head. Droplets of blood dribble across leather.

“I didn’t hear you, detective.”

Gavin moans pitifully and ruts against the seat.

“Y-yes.”

“I have a name, detective.”

His fingers tease the outer rim of Gavin’s hole.

“Y-yes, N-Nines.”

Satisfied, Nines gives a none-too-gentle slap across Gavin’s ass and is only half surprised when Gavin moans loudly, beads of precum smearing against the seat. Nines saves this visual in his internal storage, with a reminder to investigate this further some time in the future.

A notification pops up, informing him that their break is almost over.

“We should return. We have a few reports to file before the end of our shift,” Nine says.

He unbinds Gavin’s wrists, pleased to see the vicious abrasions covering the marks left by the last man Gavin slept with. His fans whir loudly to try and cool down his internal components while he decreases his pleasure sensory to tame the erection tenting his pants.

As Nines adjusts himself, preparing to exit the vehicle, Gavin scrambles onto his knees, his full, leaking cock bouncing against his abdomen.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Nines gives a forced huff to express irritation. “I thought I was clear: back to the office. No longer will I waste valuable work hours indulging your primitive needs.”

He goes to open the door and Gavin reaches for his shoulder. Nines knocks his hand away.

“The fuck, Nines? You can’t just leave a guy hanging!”

He opens the door, one foot stepping out. Before completely exiting the vehicle, he casts his gaze over at the detective, sprawled back against the seat, cock quivering in neglect. The pathetic desperation on Gavin’s face was far more satisfying than every preconstructed scenario where Nines gave in to his partner’s whims.

“You have hands, detective,” Nines says, his eyes cooler than the late autumn chill. “Use them.”

And Nines steps out, slamming the door to block out the string of crass insults that spill off Gavin’s filthy tongue.

His LED whirs to a calm shade of blue, shoes clicking on asphalt. For the first time in months, Nines has _clarity._

* * *

For the rest of the shift, Gavin is an irascible mess of pent up sexual frustration that he takes it out on everyone, snapping at anyone who so much tries to exchange pleasantries with him. Nines watches with quiet amusement as word of the detective’s mood circulates the office and it’s unanimously decided to keep a wide berth around the man, lest anyone accidentally prod the beast.

The highlight of the afternoon is when Fowler shouts at Gavin to get into the office and the screaming match that follows. Not even Connor or Nines’ sensitive hearing is needed to make out the gist of the argument:

“Do you want to explain to me why in the hell there’s a hole in the fucking wall in the men’s bathroom?”

“The fuck are you accusing me of? I didn’t do that shit! Get god damn robocop in here and ask him about it!”

“I’m not asking RK900, Reed! I’m asking _you!_ ”

“And I’m telling you it was the fucking murderbot!”

“God damnit, Reed! You’ve been throwing these tantrums all week and I’ve had it up to--!”

“Fuck sakes, it was NINES!”

“Why in the hell would an android be in the men’s rest room?!”

In the end, Gavin receives a severe warning, since the captain can’t actually prove Gavin did it, and becomes even more unbearable as he glowers at his desk. There was a time when Nines would have admitted his part in the incident but he’s decided that having Gavin take the assumed blame is necessary in the detective’s long overdue lesson in humility.

Plus, Nines is beginning to appreciate the value in a bit of pettiness.

As the shift draws to a close, Nines notices Gavin casting glances at him from the edge of his peripheral. He ignores the detective’s attempts to gain his attention, fingers flying across the keyboard as he types up the last of his reports.

[Detective Asshole – 16:54]

_You could have stuck up for me._

[Detective Asshole – 16:54]

_Prick._

Though the messages pop up in his visual, Nines deems them not worth responding to.

[Detective Asshole – 16:55]

_You just gonna ignore me now?_

He scans the information he’s typed and goes onto the final section of the report.

[Detective Asshole – 16:56]

 _After that shit you pulled, I should be ignoring_ YOU.

His fingers click across the keys.

“Hey, asshole,” Gavin sneers.

Nines’ fingers keep going, head tilting to glance over the side of the desktop. “There are approximately 3 minutes and 23 seconds left in our shift. Unless the next words out of your mouth are relevant to the task at hand, whatever you have to say to me can wait.”

As he returns his gaze back to the screen, another message pops up.

[Detective Asshole – 16:57]

_You gonna finish what you started?_

Nines saves the report and prepares to send it to the captain.

[Detective Asshole – 16:58]

_You get all up in my face about getting dick somewhere else. Maybe I wouldn’t if your plastic ass could keep up with me._

[Detective Asshole – 16:58]

_Fucking cocktease._

[Detective Asshole – 16:59]

_Your fake dick broken or something? Can’t get it up?_

Nines temporarily blocks Gavin’s number.

He hears Gavin curse loudly.

“Oh yeah, real fucking mature, Nines,” Gavin snaps.

With the report sent and the time indicating the end of their shift, Nines stands up, pulls his coat from the back of the chair and slips it on.

“You gonna give me an answer or not, tin can?”

His eyes flicker over to the detective’s and he sees Gavin visibly flinch.

“If I may, detective, a piece of advice from my social programming: if you want something, the probability of receiving it increases exponentially when one asks nicely. As foreign as the concept is, you may want to perhaps try it sometime.”

“You fucking...”

Nines goes to walk past Reed’s desk but a hand comes out to grip the wrist of his coat. He pauses, stares very pointedly down his nose at his partner as is half surprised to see a faint blush painting Gavin’s cheeks, who is unable to meet his eyes and instead, stares at the space between their feet.

“...please...”

Nines feels his lips quirk.

“You’ll have to be specific, Gavin.”

Gavin shivers at the way his name rolls off Nines’ tongue. And whatever remaining bravado has been holding him back, it dissipates as the detective’s voice drops to a whisper.

“Please fuck me, Nines.”

Submission.

Nines leans low enough for the detective to hear him but not enough that the gesture could be mistaken for intimacy.

“I’ll not have you when you’re like... _this_ ,” Nines says, unable to voice his disgust but attempting to convey it in the way his eyes sweep over Gavin. “You will return home. You will clean yourself up. And you will spend the remainder of your weekend pondering over your actions. And once I deem an appropriate amount of time has passed and you’ve commiserated over the error of your ways, I will indulge your request.”

“You just expect me to sit around all weekend and wait until you ‘decide’ to come over?” Gavin sneers. “What makes you think I’m gonna wait that long?”

Nines suddenly doesn’t care who sees. He grips Gavin by his coat, yanks him forward until his nose is all but pressing against his partner’s, irritation burning in the icy caps of his eyes. “Because, Gavin, you belong to me and I do not **share.** If you’ve already forgotten what we determined earlier, perhaps you’ll need another week or two to think it through.”

Gavin’s eyes widen. He swallows, hard, and Nines watches with pleasure as his throat bobs, the new bruises darkening the skin around his neck.

“Y-you gonna text me? L-let me know when?” Gavin mumbles.

Nines lets him go and the detective collapses in his chair, shifting uncomfortably to try and hide his arousal. With a practiced shrug, Nines answers, quietly, “As I said, I’ll arrive when I do. And then, if you’ve demonstrated good behavior, you’ll be rewarded. Thoroughly.”

His gaze flickers to the detective’s lower half meaningfully and Gavin bites down hard on his lip to keep from groaning aloud.

“Goodnight, detective.”

Turning on his heels, Nines leaves Gavin in a state brimming with such _want_ , he’d hardly be surprised if the detective decides to take matters into his own hands the moment he has a bit of privacy.

No matter.

As promised, Nines eventually arrives at Gavin’s apartment, late on Sunday. And he fucks him so hard, the only name to spill off the detective’s tongue is _Nines._

* * *

In the space of a few days, Nines is able to appropriately reassess his relationship with Gavin Reed and categorizes it as follows:

[ **Relationship: Gavin Reed –** **Sexual partner** **]**

There’s no longer the humiliation of being used, the melancholy that came with all the abuse Gavin had once tossed at him. Nines knows Gavin can never love him – will never care about him – and has buried the confusing emotions that had once plagued him. Instead, he has redefined their relationship within parameters he understands: control.

And with that control comes the benefits of having a partner who buckles in submission each time Nines pushes him to his knees.

He understands now, Gavin’s attraction to Connor: it was all about dominance. About prodding until RK800 reacted and asserted his authority.

Lucky for Gavin, Nines is only that much more willing to find new ways he can bend the detective and reassert his authority.

By the time Friday rolls around, Gavin’s attitude towards Nines has warmed considerably.

“Did you rest well, detective?”

Gavin settles in his desk across from the android, the pink in his cheeks not only from the early morning chill. He doesn’t meet Nines’ eyes but Nines feels his thirium pump stutter when he catches a hint of the marks he left on the detective peeking above his shirt collar.

“S’alright,” Gavin says, with a shrug.

“I’ve been thinking,” Nines starts, waiting until Gavin’s had a sip of the coffee he left on the detective’s desk, “We should revisit what we uncovered the other night, perhaps try and approach it from a new angle.”

Gavin’s face goes beet red and he chokes down his next sip of coffee. “S-sounds good.”

Nines’ preconstructions are already formulating the variety of ways he can test the detective’s limits when it comes to his masochistic proclivities.

Pleased with the reaction he’s received, Nines returns to his work. But not before adding one slight change to the status he had updated earlier in the week:

[ **Relationship: Gavin Reed** — **MINE]**


End file.
